Chrno Crusade: 1981
by Defalthus
Summary: It is May 14th, 1981: 60 years after the events of the last Crusade...and one day after the assassination of Pope John Paul II. An event that will revisit an evil 60 years old...and only two people can stop.
1. Chapter 1: A Simple Pocket Watch

**Chrno Crusade: 1981**

"_I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, saith the lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty,"_

Revelations 2, 8 - Holy Bible

**Chapter 1:** A Simple Pocket Watch

It had been a long day, Remington thought to himself as he kneeled in front of the altar in the small church on the outskirts of Germany. In the many, many years spent doing the work of the church, Remington had not seen times like these...in truth, he wished not to think on those old times and those sad memories. But soon, he would have to face them.

"_A man is coming, a man I have not seen in...many years. A pursuer, or so he was. Soon we will see how much has changed...and how much remains the same."_

It had only been one day previous. A man pulled out a gun and shot the pope twice, critically wounding him. The authorities had scrambled like mad to keep a lid on the situation and not leak the information on the assassin too early. They had tried to prevent the real secrets of the even from coming out too fast. But the order knew, what was left of the order knew that a gear had been set in motion as soon as the man let fly the first bullet. It had pierced the very fabric of time, space, the Vatican City, Italy, and soon, the rest of the world.

"_Have you no shame, Aion?"_

Remington finished his prayer and reveled in the open arms of the savior above him, though he feared the face of the statue cried out even more than usual on a day like this. At the same time, watching from the very back of the church, was one who had turned his back on the arms, the body, the face, and the tears of god a long time ago. He cared not for the house of god, only the sinners that defiled it.

"You know I prefer to remain outside the holy house...Ewan Remington."

Without turning, Ewan acknowledged the man's presence with a knowing smirk and a touch of his index finger to his forehead, as if contemplating the next few exchanges in his head.

"I appreciate you coming...and yes, I do know. But now is not the time..." As he turned, he was taken aback by the figure that stood before him. He was slenderer than he had been, but it was the same man, "Deufo."

It was clear that the sensibilities of the time meant nothing to Deufo who looked as he always did: mysterious and slowly aged with the rim of a very noticeable and well worn fedora cutting across the top edge of his horizontally pressed eyes. Even in the daylight of the stain glass windows, Deufo carried with him an air of the unusual and foreign: perhaps not seeming altogether demonic, but not altogether human either.

"I take it you've seen the news?"

Deufo walked toward Remington slowly, looking over every edge of the small church like a realtor inspecting a house. The lack of emotional attachment to the walls and edifices around him almost got to Remington, but he tried his best to get over it.

"Don't you find it odd, Ewan" Deufo began defiantly, "this church stands against everything the humans of this age believe in. The 20's - - a joke to the common man today. You ask him if he remembers the great '_time when_'-- and even his parents...his parents' parents...cannot bring themselves to remember what we did to save this world from itself."

In the course of this diatribe to himself, Deufo had ended up right in front of Remington, directly below the outstretched arms of the Holy Father himself. Even now, the symbol of the crucifixion and the man who stood under it (a once very prominent and holy figure) seemed very small. "And now we are right backs where we started."

For a moment, no words were said. Deufo looked straight into Remington's eyes and Remington looked straight back. Within the silence, there was an understanding between the two of them that spanned many long years filled with too much pain for man and demon alike. Slowly a smile crossed Deufo's face and a chuckle broke the silence.

"As stern as ever. Although not quite as pristine as I remember, Remington. Clearly, this can't be a good sign otherwise you never would have called me."

"A desperate move, I admit, but one that is more than necessary in times such as these." With that Remington put an arm on Deufo's shoulder. "It is good that you came, though. Now please, have you..."

"Of course I've seen it. It's only in print and video everywhere from here to Balkans."

"I can't say the media has helped the problem," Remington admitted, "each country is spinning it differently. Luckily, none of them seem to know the truth behind the matter."

"And I supposed you do Ewan." Deufo was now leaning against one of the arm rests at the end of the aisle, his hat tipping even more to the front, as if he were falling asleep right then and there. As Deufo positioned himself correctly to make the position as painless as possible, his eyes wandered to the carpet below his feet. _"The Color of Blood...as if dripping from the very statue itself..._" By now, he had expected to hear the theory that Remington had mentioned only seconds earlier. When it didn't come, Deufo slowly lifted his head up.

Remington's face was stern, as if he was staring down some evil that had stepped out of the shadows. It was the kind of look Deufo knew that Remington reserved for only one man. Rather, not a man, but a sinner who had made both of their lives quite difficult only 60 years previous.

"No..."

"It doesn't make sense, but..."

"Doesn't make sense? You were there when it happened..."

'_Chrno killed him, 60 years ago.'_

The name echoed in Deufo's head like a drop of water from a leaky faucet...drip drip drip until the sheer repetition of it was instantly recognizable to the senses. He had heard the news of Chrno and Rosette's passing shortly after the events...the sad sad events that Aion put in motion so many years ago. _Aion you bastard. How can we fight this evil again without Chrno and Rosette?_

"What does the order say about the incident?" Remington went slightly pale.

"The Order does not say much these days. At least, not to me." Remington walked around the edge of the row of seats and sat down in the seat closest to the aisle. "About 12 years ago, the last of the protectors abandoned their posts after a series of unexplained events took place resulting in the death of 20 different sister protectors. Some of them died of..." before he could finish his thought, Remington began to hear the very screams of the sisters he spoke of. He remembered their dying words, fighting an evil that would not show itself and yet was all too familiar. Left and right, year by year, another innocent sister fell to the increasing storm of evil that would culminate in the assassination attempt of the previous eve.

"...of demonic burning, poisoning, dismemberment, and two succumbed to a rare version of the stigmata that has only been documented one other time in all of recorded history. It is, indeed, so rare...the pope himself has never been told of the event or of the stigmata pattern. The pain...it is in a word, excruciating." He slowly brought his right hand to his forehead, crossing himself like an old man who had seen one too many battles in his time. "I would not wish that sort of pain upon any man, woman, or child again."

"Since then, the Order has been struggling to rebuild itself in the wake of a world that has become increasingly frustrated with religion and politics. They blame me for not doing more - - and angel powerless to change the fate of those who believed me for so long...when I promised them that they would be protected…and avenged." The pain was slowly becoming too much to bare. Deufo could see the events of the past had clearly taken a toll on Remington. If he had been a more compassionate man, he might have felt it necessary to console Ewan, but those times were long gone.

"I fear that this one event has caused the problems to escalate to a boiling point. If people cannot turn to the pope for help in times of need...they will turn to someone...and I fear Aion will use this opportunity he has created to, once again, bring the false prophet out of the ashes."

It took Deufo but a moment to realize what Remington meant. Aion had tried once and failed. 60 years ago, he had tried to bring upon the freedom of himself and the Sinners who followed him...using Rosette as the false prophet of his choosing. _'But how can this be? The clock stopped years ago..." _

"The Clock..." Deufo let his thoughts slip out loud.

"Yes, my friend. The Stopwatch that Rosette wore around her neck."

"You fear he has it in his possesion?" Deufo, shocked, had resigned himself to the seat across the aisle from Remington. Although Deufo was not one to show wide ranges of emotion, Remington could see the disbelief in his eyes.

"I pray that he does not. This is our only chance to take it from him."

"Do you know where it is?"

With a spurt of confidence in his voice, Remington rose to his feet. "There is one person who knows. Let's just hope Aion believes her to be dead."

With that, Remington looked up at the cross one more time, closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, Deufo was already gone, most likely to follow him from the shadows until the solution to his riddle became clear. As Remington turned toward the back of the church, he felt the strangest feeling that someone was pushing him outward, toward the future that awaited the both of them. As he looked back at the Holy Father, his head hung low and his arms frozen an outstretched...

_Rosette..._

...was the only thought that came to mind.

Deufo had not gone far, standing on the roof of the church like a gargoyle warding off the evils of the night. He watched as Remington walked down the hill away from the church, neither looking back nor turning back. Deufo knew as he had known 60 years ago; the time of Aion had come again...and it was race that humanity, nor demon kind, could afford to lose.

_So it begins again._

And with that...he vanished.

Next - Chapter 2: Azmaria Hendric

"_I believe that Rosette is alive...somewhere"_


	2. Chapter 2: Azmaria Hendric

**Chrno Crusade: 1981**

Chapter 2: Azmaria Hendric

"_I love you so much I can't speak, so how will you see my kindness?_

_Hold me tighter, I believe in your warm heart_

_Farewell, solitaire, to tomorrow"_

Several hundred miles away in a small town just south of Florence, Italy, an old woman picked up her cup of tea and took a sip. As her tongue flicked the inside of her lips and tasted eighty years of living mixed with earl grey hitting the back of her throat, the heartfelt words of a timeless love song entered her mind. She had not thought about this particular song for a very long time, but after the current days events, the shooting, the coverup, and the media frenzy, her small corner of Italy seemed even smaller. That, coupled with her feeling of sadness and impending evil made the sound of the old, but familiar song, as equally warming as the tea in her hand.

"_Because I have someone whom I love so much, I'm here by your side, protecting you_

_I'm so glad that I was born on this earth that connects me to you…"_

As she reached the end of the phrase, her voice, like that of someone much younger, seemed to carry across the field in front of her house, over the trees, flowers, and through the olive garden near the fence, out into the world…where a tall man could be seen walking towards the old woman's front porch. Noticing this, the old woman placed her tea on the stand next to her. Her cat could be seen nuzzling at her leg and, with the strength she had, she reached down and picked up the large long haired tabby and place him on her legs.

"Hmm…The world has changed so much. Italy has changed. But have we, Alin? Have we?"

Her cat looked back at her, but without an answer to be found. All he wanted was love. _So do I…sweet Alin._

The man in the blue uniform was now only 20 or 30 feet away from the front porch of the house. The Old woman continued to pet the medium sized, grandly fuzzy creature laying on it's side in her lap and began to sing softly to the sleepy beast, which only made Alin purr even more.

"You have a beautiful voice, miss" Ewan had stopped short of the first step of the house, not wanting to impose or step where he had not been given permission to step. _Time may be of the essence, but it's still proper to be polite._

"Hmm," The old woman smirked, "I'm way past my prime. I sing for myself these days." Alin, not acquainted with this new visitor, quickly jumped off of the old lady's lap and walked slowly over to Ewan to make a 'proper' introduction…and hopefully get petted in the process.

"What's his name?"

"Did you come here to meet my cat? Or is there some other purpose to your 'uninvited' visit?"

Ewan, without skipping a bit, put his hand along side the inquisitive cats cheek, turned it's little face upwards, and look straight back into the cats soul. Alin, neither afraid nor disturbed, went with the flow for a moment or too before pulling his head back, walking back into the house to get a drink of water from his bowl.

"Alin tells me he likes your singing, too. It calms him down. It's soothing."

"Clearly he tells you more than he does me. Then again, I don't have the power to read a cats mind."

"I wasn't reading his mind, ma'am. He spoke to me. Like I am speaking to you. But, clearly, he was more interested in having something to drink than having a chat with a human being."

"I don't blame him. We're boring creatures…don't you think?"

Ewan wanted to agree with the woman, not being human himself. But since his heart, rather, his metaphysical heart was essentially human, he related with the truth of humanity too much to make humans the bad guys. _Humans just want to be loved like anyone else, just like Alin._ "I wouldn't know, ma'am."

"Hmm, you are a puzzle aren't you?" The two shared a long moment of silence seeming to stretch into infinity, where the sun was just beginning to set behind the horizon line. "Well, you might as well come in and have some tea. I have a cup or two left over and if someone doesn't drink it," the old woman lurched forward, pushed against the arms of chair with her frail hands, and slowly lifted herself out the seat, "well let's just say I don't like to let things go to waste." Looking to her left, she grabbed the walking stick and turned back toward the door of her house. Ewan followed slowly behind her. Before entering the house, he turned back towards the field. He noticed Deufo was already there, sitting on the fences surrounding the olive garden, tossing a few of the ripe ones out and spitting them back into the garden.

"Your tea is getting cold, young stranger."

Looking away from the field, Ewan entered the house and closed the door behind him.

From the outside, the house had looked like every other Italian home: A one story villa, not very large, but well built, painted a stained white shade and built out of a combination of concrete and strong Italian bark. The inside was built to act as a continuation of the outside; very open and always breathing. However, the house had not been updated for late twentieth century living: the stove was run on coal or wood and doubled as the heater in the winter, where electric lights would have been commonplace, candles and candleholders were present, and in the center of this dated interior— a wonderfully old, yet still in tune, turn of the century nickelodeon player piano. As Evan walked over to it, in what he assumed was the living room, he noticed that the internal mechanism was all powered by one button which, when pressed, made the internal gears move, powering the machine and kick starting the big reel in the center where the music sheet was located. He pressed the button and watched as the piano stuttered to life, clicking and clacking like a set of false teeth, as the wheel in the center began to turn, telling the piano which keys to play, for how long, and so on.

As the piano played, the old woman brought the tea into the living room, where the piano was located, and placed the tea down on the table behind Ewan. He thanked her, picked it up, and took a small sip as the piano played a beautiful rendition of "Ave Maria". He got so wrapped up in it, though, that he nearly burnt his tongue. He attempted to cool off his mouth without drawing too much attention to himself.

"Too hot?" His attempt at being shrewd hadn't worked, and shook his head 'no', attempting to hold on to some form of civility. The Old Lady tried to follow suit, attempting to stifle a chuckle through her teeth.

As the song drew to a close, Ewan placed the tea back down on the table and turned towards the couch, where the old woman was already sitting down…Alin, the cat, laying on his side next to her.

"I'm sorry," the piano notes came to rest and the gears stopped turning…the machine went silent.

"What's bothering you, dear? If the tea is too hot I can get you an ice cube…"

"No, no…it's not the tea."

"Well…If it's about the piano, I'm glad you turned it on. I haven't been able to play it in years, and…" the woman exhales a very large breath, "…it's just too sad to watch the machine play itself. Automation, it's a travesty of the modern world…in my opinion. Nothing is challenge anymore. Nothing is important. Hmm…listen to me, the ramblings of an old woman. That's not why you're here is it?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"I'd say you found someone. And if my cat is brave enough to trust you…I suppose I can as well. Who are you looking for, dear?"

"A friend. A girl, actually."

The old woman smiled and tipped her head back as if someone was about to pour a rather large amount of liquid straight into her stomach. What came out of her, instead, was a very deep bellied laugh.

"I was a girl…once. However, there are no young girls here, Ewan Remington."

"So, you do know who I am."

"Yes…"

"How, Old Woman?"

"Because you seek the girl known as Azmaria Hendric warned me that you would come. But she did not tell me if it would be for good, or evil. She told me you would have a friend with you…if you can call that smelly demon hiding behind the wall to kitchen a friend."

"Let's get one thing straight, lady," Deufo, realizing that he'd been had, shifted through the wall ending up in the living room with the Old Lady and Ewan, overly nonchalant as usual although a tad perturbed from being noticed, "you don't want me as an enemy…and I'll smell however I damn well please, thank you very much." He turned towards Ewan as if to look to him for a bit of support. Seeing it wasn't going to come, Deufo took the tea that was meant for Ewan off the table, chugged it, placed it upside down on the saucer, and replaced the saucer on the table.

"So…" releasing a belch, "Where's Azmaria, Ewan?"

"Why did she tell you these things?" Ewan asked.

"Because she fears you are no longer loyal to the Magdalan Order; that you are working with some…" the old woman glances over at Deufo a second time, "…evil force to help bring the world to the brink again. To help people forget how close evil is to defeating the good of the world. She believes that the assassination on the pope was carried out…in part…by you."

"Enough. God, you are naïve aren't you?" Deufo, his patience waning, decides to get right up in the woman's face, "If we were the bad guys, I would have ripped your throat out by now, Granny."

"DEUFO!" Deufo slowly turned around and looked up at Ewan. Outside, his exterior was a smooth as quicksilver, but Deufo could smell the disapproval in Ewan's constant stare.

"Fine, we'll do things your way…for now." Deufo exclaims, shooting another glance at the Old Lady.

"I have no proof one way or another what your intentions are, demon." Deufo huffs and stand back up. The old woman reaches for her cane and places it between her calves, resting her hands on the top of it. Her eyes never leave Ewan or Deufo's gaze. "I am sworn to protect Azmaria, her house, her powers…and her secrets so that they shall never again fall into the hands of evil. And while you, Ewan, seem to be who you say you are, you travel with questionable company. Unfortunatly for you, I cannot risk Azmaria's safety on looks alone. So if you cannot offer any more tangible proof than 'your word', I must ask you to leave at once."

At this, Ewan starts to pace slowly across the carpet, his feet shifting like they are carrying no weight whatsoever. Taking in very shallow and soft breath, he turns towards the old lady again.

"That song you were singing, on the front porch. What was the name of it?"

"That song? It was a song I sang for a friend of mine. A song for a love never fully realized until it was too late."

"A song for Rosette…and Chrno."

"…yes…"

"Did Azmaria teach that song to you?"

The Old lady stuttered for a moment. "Um…yes. However, it's a very sensitive subject so I would really prefer if…"

"Sayonara, Solitia…I have only heard one person sing it as you do; with such a sweetness of voice, such an air of innocence." Ewan's steps have taken him right up to the seat in where the old woman has come to rest. Slowly, Ewan falls to his knees in front of the old woman. "I believe you sang it for someone else as well, though in time, he lost his way. He forgot what his purpose was. He, like you, wants to make amends for what is wrong, and what is most certainly right."

"I sing it…for myself now. I'm old…the world has forgotten."

"Is that what you are afraid of, old lady? Afraid of being forgotten?"

"I can't watch the past return again. I won't…I won't be weak and helpless again. I MADE A PROMISE TO ROSETTE…on the…day…she…"

Ewan, now only inches away from the woman's cracked and broken face, looks right into the woman's eyes and traces a finger along the arch of one of the old layers of skin. "And I'll make sure you keep it…"

With that, Ewan kissed the old woman on the lips. A white light surrounded the old lady and her layers of dead skin and wrinkles begin to spark with life. Deufo watched in amazement as the arms of the old lady reach around Remington's large back and pull him towards her, slowly becoming more and more youthful until all signs of wrinkles have disappeared from sight. As the light begins to fade from sight and get sucked back into the space between Ewan and the Old Woman, a new, more youthful set of eyes came into view: large, black, innocent, and surrounded by free-flowing pinkish-blonde hair. Her hands started to fall of his back, down to her sides, her lips found the strength to pull away from Ewan's, and suddenly her back once again met up with the cushioned center of the couch.

"Azmaria!" Deufo, quite surprised with what has just taken place, notices that Azmaria couldn't have aged more than 5 or 6 years in her physical appearance since last he saw her. In all accounts, it is the _same_ Azmaria from 60 years ago whom is sitting there in front of him, her eyes fixed on Remington.

"Oh, Ewan!" She lunges upward to meet him again, this time in a very long hug and places her nose into his shoulder, taking a very long breath in, as if wanting to keep a part of her with him.

"I was so afraid it wasn't you. I wanted to believe. But I knew, I knew that you'd see past the charm…if it was really you." The young girl began to cry, two tears streaming down her face. "God, I'm so glad it's you."

"I'm sorry we came without notice, Azmaria."

"I know. Like I said," sniffing away the tears, "I knew you would come, I just wasn't expecting it to be this soon. I had to take steps…for protection."

"Then, you know why we're here?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure if I can help you."

Ewan and Deufo exchanged a terrified glance. "Why is that?"

"It's difficult to explain…without showing you everything. Quick, come with me." Without a second thought, the young Azmaria, bolder than either of the two gentleman expected to find her, pulled Ewan by the hand into the other room. Still stunned by what had just taken place, Deufo took one long look around the room just to make sure nothing else fishy was going to happen. That's when he noticed Alin nuzzling the outside of his leg.

"Don't tell me, you're really Chrno aren't you?"

Alin looked up and meowed a very long meow. _Yeah, right._ Deufo, giving up altogether, followed Ewan and Azmaria into the other room…Alin following close behind.

Next – Chapter 3: Tracing the Path of Evil


	3. Chapter 3: Tracing the Path of Evil

**A Note to my Readers: **A lot of what I am writing is my spin on the universe of Chrno Crusade based on what I know about the characters, the world, and the motives of the characters. That being said, I will at times take liberties on things in exchange for the overall flow of the narrative, but at the same time, I will do my best to keep true to the original work that this fanfic is based off of. For me, though, the fun of it is taking these characters on journeys that we, as an audience, haven't seen yet. That's what makes it a joy to write. So, although sometimes it might not quite jive with the original story, I will do my best to make it plausible. Just give me some time my friends. The story is only about a fourth done and there are plenty of fun surprises to come in the next few chapters. Trust me…

Defalthus

**Chrno Crusade: 1981**

Chapter 3: Tracing the Path of Evil

Germany, June 11th 1933: Zoologischer Garten Station – Berlin

It was another busy day in the station. People were hopping of trains left and right with four, five, or 6 bags per family; coming in on holiday heading to the Alexanderplatz to shop and enjoy the beauty of Berlin. Sure, there were uprisings every now and then, socialist party banter in the street, people screaming "Germany for Germans". But people talk; why be afraid of talk?

Azmaria was afraid of talk. Standing in the train station, waiting for Ewan to arrive, she remembered that this kind of talk had resulted in the death of hundreds of thousands, including her parents. Thinking about the whole thing caused her skin to bubble. Without knowing it, her feet turned inwards and her head dipped down towards the floor. In her dark blue Magdalan Order uniform, head bowed and eyes close, she looked like she was praying…praying for each and every person who got on an off those trains that very moment.

_Where are you, Ewan? Why aren't you here yet?_

Suddenly Azmaria felt a pair of soft, gentle hands press up against the sides of her arms. She jumped a bit a first, but suddenly looked up and saw Ewan standing there in front of her.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Azmaria…"

"Ewan…" Without thinking, she leaned forward and fell into him, her arms linking around his back. "…I was afraid you weren't going to come. I got your letters."

Azmaria pulled away a bit and looked up into Ewan's eyes. For a moment she felt like she needed nothing else to hold onto in life than the reflection she saw in those eyes of his.

"Then you know what's going on."

"I do, I just don't believe it. You think people would have learned something from the previous war."

"Careful…" Ewan pulled Azmaria towards his body once more and whispered into her ear. "…Plans are being made in secret, and the information in those letters I sent to you must be delivered to the Magdalan branch in London as soon as possible. I fear it is even too late for the order to stop the events that have already been set in motion."

"No…that's not possible."

"Azmaria," Ewan looked down at Azmaria, wanting to say something important but got wrapped up in her teenage beauty, "You don't look a day over 18."

"Hmm…I'd say you're one to talk about appearances." Azmaria let go of Ewan for a moment and bent over to reach into her suitcase, a relatively thin, brown suitcase containing a change of cloths or two, some special items from the order, and a few mementoes. When she stood back up she handed her travel papers to Ewan who chuckled when she looked at her date of birth.

"Looks like you chopped off a few years. Good, if age matches appearance, people shouldn't ask you too many questions when you try to cross the border, especially when they see the cross and that innocent face of yours."

"Ewan, I'm not that innocent."

"Listen…" Ewan suddenly got very serious, "Germany is changing, and I fear it is only going to get worse. I don't know if I'll be able to protect you if you don't leave and report to London at once."

"Ewan, I'm not a child anymore. I joined the order to fight, not to run."

"I know. You made a promise to Rosette. Now I'm making a promise to you: I will never let what happen to Rosette happen to you."

Azmaria stood in shock. _Why would he say something like that? _

"What do you mean, Ewan?" Suddenly, the train that had been sitting dead on the track next to her sprung to life and the locomotive at the far end began cough smoke, ready to begin the long journey west. People began to board the train, left and right, just like they always did. And the conductor shouted in German for people to jump on board as he helped them with their luggage.

"There's no time. Get on the train, Azmaria. Do what needs to be done…" then he leaned closer to her again, their two faces almost becoming one, "…I won't forget you…" he whispered. Then, like electricity, his lips met hers. They were as soft as his hands had been: gentle, supple, and sweet. _This…this can't be happening. _She felt her eye lids grow heavy and wanted to pull Ewan as close to her body as possible. But when her arms searched out for him all they found was air. Opening her eyes, Azmaria fell into consciousness, almost losing her balance completely in the process.

_Ewan…_

Once more, she looked around the track to see if he was there, but he had vanished as suddenly as he arrived. All that remained was his promise, and a sweet taste on Azmaria's lips; a taste that filled her heart with something new and unexpected. When she was younger, she had looked up to Ewan. She had been as innocent as her outward appearance showed. She wanted to fight, but was afraid. Now, she still wanted to fight…but with one kiss everything had changed.

Slowly, Azmaria boarded the very last car of the train, standing on the outside platform looking back into the terminal. As the train began to pull away, Azmaria felt something pulsate and glow from underneath her uniform. Pulling back on a chain that was resting around her neck, she lifted out the small pocket watch that Rosette had used to make the contract with Chrno. _It's glowing…is she trying to tell me something? _In the distance, the train station drifted farther and farther into the horizon, Berlin going with it.

"Fraulein?" The conductor motioned her inside the car. It wasn't safe to be outside anymore. With a tear running down her cheek, Azmaria wondered how long it would be before nothing was safe anymore.

…_Please, don't die, Ewan. Whatever you do, please, please don't die._

**Back in the Present Day,**

**Vatican City - May 15th, 1981**

Security on the grounds of the Vatican had gone way up in the days following the assassination attempt. Visitors, onlookers, and supporters alike were all under the same level of speculation and no one was allowed to go near St. Peters Square without showing all of the appropriate papers first.

Just outside of the square, a large Lincoln Continental, black with tinted windows, was making its way to the back of the back entrance of the Vatican, reserved for members of the church. As the car approached, a security guard quickly hopped out of his little booth and approached the driver's side window.

"carta d'identità, per favore." Quickly the driver lifted a small identification card and showed it to the security guard. After swiping it through a little machine he had in his hand, he realized that the passenger in the back of the car was none other than the Carmelengo, the representative for the Pope during life and the most important man in the Church upon his death. Without a second thought, he let the car go through.

Upon parking the car and being escorted to floor where the Pope's residence was, the young Carmelengo, barely out of his thirties, was greeted by three of the popes elected cardinals. Having only heard about the assassination a day before, almost 24 hours after the rest of the world (the priest had been doing charitable work in Nairobi), he was particularly perturbed.

"…and there was no one who could have reached me sooner? What if he had died, Cardinal?"

"Carmelengo, we had the bishops scrambling to find you as soon as it occurred. But the truth of the matter is…" there was no time to waste on the truth. The truth was that the Pope had been shot and he wasn't there to help him.

"Has he requested me?"

"Several times. He is aware you are in the building and he is ready to see you as soon as you wish."

"I do wish, right now. Please." He let the cardinals pass in front of him, giving them at least some of the respect they deserve. Walking behind them, he looked out at the square and noticed all the people standing behind the barricades, praying for their fallen pontiff. _So this is really what you wish?_ Without giving it a second thought, he turned back towards the hallway in front of him, taking a few moments to wipe of his robes and straighten his beads before walking into the popes sacred chamber.

In all honesty, most of the cardinals did not like the Carmelengo. They thought he was too idealistic to be the point man of the most influential staple of the Roman Caltholic Church. He rarely agreed with his superiors, was an ultra liberal as far as the church was concerncerd, and as one Bishop had made clear, thought he was "barely out of diapers the first time I met him." That being said, the Pope appointed him carmelengo for two key reasons: 1) his presence always made the aged pontiff feel young as well as young at heart, and 2) because the Carmelengo was undoubtedly loyal and would never betray him.

"I am here…I am sorry I was late. No one informed me." The Carmelengo walked over to bed and kneeled down beside the fallen Pontiff, grabbing his hand and kissing the gold ring, which signified his position as Pope. The Pope, lacking the strength to say much, placed his hand on the side of the Carmelengo's head and looked deep into his eyes. A smile crossed the pope's face: an infectious smile that went straight to the center of the Carmelengo's soul. Without a second thought, the pope motioned the Cardinals out of the room; he wanted to speak to his assistant alone.

"It is good to see you, Josef…"

"How are you feeling?"

"Shot…" Josef chuckled, the Pope had not lost his infectious sense of humor. "…but I digress. I think the lord has chosen to test me. I just hope I've passed."

"I would say with flying colors. Since nothing goes unrewarded, even for the Pope, I have brought a gift for you." Reaching into one of the pockets in his robe, he withdrew a small black box with a gold border around it. The tired hands of the Pontiff took hold of it, almost without thinking, and before opening it he looked up at Josef.

"Now what is this all about? You know I can't accept this."

"My friend, for once you need not be the Pope. Open it." Slowly, the Carmelengo rose and turned away from the bed. Once again he looked out the window—at all the people with their tents up and their signs out and their cameras at the ready for their Pope's appearance. _God forgive me. This is what they all wanted. This is what is best. The world is about to change…for the better._

The pope opened the small box and noticed that inside was a small pocket watch made out of gold. The dials were not moving and all the arms were pointing in different directions. While the watch itself was very beautiful, the puzzled pontiff was unsure of why Josef would give him such an item. When the Pope noticed the dial on the side, he turned it, and the arms on the clock began to spin backwards, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Without a sound, the Pope's body began to get very rigid and his tongue latched to the roof of his mouth. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his feet pointed themselves towards the opposing wall, and his fist clenched the watch as tight as possible. All the while, the Carmelengo recited a prayer to himself, whispering the words to the floor with his eyes closed and his arms behind his back.

What happened next would go unnoticed by anyone in the Vatican and to all of the onlookers outside in St. Peters Square. The clock, now spinning out of control, began to glow a bright yellow, as did the body of the injured pontiff and his not so trustworthy Carmelengo. Feeling the moment growing to the head, the Carmelengo finished his prayer by throwing his arms in the air and shouting out loud, "AMEN!"

A few moments later, after the Carmelengo had ran out of the popes room screaming 'THE POPE HAS DIED!' a doctor made the final checks on the body, confirming the man deceased, while one of the cardinals read the popes last rights. The men tried not to show any tears, but it was hard not to cry when the Pope had seemed in such good spirits a few hours earlier.

Trying not to draw too much attention to himself, Josef took the black box with the watch in it off the table and placed it safely back in his pocket before turning to the cardinals.

"Forgive me, I know there is a lot to be done in the next few days, but I must take my leave of you and make some…personal arrangements. Forgive me."

"But Carmelengo…" But it was too late; Josef had already bounded half way down the hallway towards the elevator. _Perhaps that was a bit rash of me, but I have no time._ Reaching the car, the driver quickly opened the back door, allowing Josef to get in. Leaning into the door, the driver picked up the car phone in the back and handed it to the Carmelengo.

"He's already on the phone for you, sir."

"Thank you."

Pulling out of the Vatican, eyeing the crowd that just received the news of the popes death-- the tears, the hugging, the disappointment of the moment, Josef placed the phone to his ear and listened as his destiny spoke to him on the other end. Pulling the watch out of his pocket once more, he held in front of his face,

"It is done. Now, there is no turning back." Hanging up the phone, he felt the power of the Astral Line flow through him; a direct connection to it created from the energy of the fallen pope now stored in this remarkably simple object. As the power grew, the Carmelengo could feel his grip with humanity slipping away. But it no longer mattered. There were more important things to deal with, and his tickets were waiting for him at the international airport.

Next – Chapter 4: The Cost of Ones Powers


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